


Solace

by jillyfae



Series: Sweetest of All Sounds [4]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The simple tale of girl meets boy ... though boy is a sworn member of the clergy and girl is technically a criminal and probably a heretic, so that might not be the best idea.</p><p>But sometimes friends show up when and where you least expect them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So once upon a time, (upon several times?), I attempted to write a long-fic retelling of DA2 with Adelaide Hawke and Sebastian Vael. And it has died, many a time, (though I hope some day it might still happen), but it still does birth a few good scenes now and then.
> 
> So I reworked and added a bit and came up with this, which is a story about when they met, during that first missing year in Kirkwall. (Before his family died, for those of you wondering about the time-line.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> > _Blessed are they who stand before_  
>  The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.  
>  Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.
>> 
>> -Benedictions 4:10
>> 
>> _The one who repents, who has faith,  
>  Unshaken by the darkness of the world,  
> She shall know true peace._
>> 
>> -Transfigurations 10:1

Adelaide Hawke's shoulders slumped as she trudged up the many, many steps to the Chantry doors. Everything was grey.  Grey stone, grey skin, grey thoughts.  _So bloody tired._   Even the light was grey, the sharp merciless tease of false dawn.

She was too late for _matins_ , too early for _lauds,_ and moving slowly enough she had to keep her hand on Daryn's back to keep herself steady, but the thought of crawling back into Gamlen's hovel and trying to sleep made her shudder.

Besides.

Athenril had mentioned rumors of higher Slaver activity than usual, and warned her crews to keep an eye out. That was not a worry that would lead to sweet dreams.

_Tevinters right on my doorstep, and being the only thing Templars hate as much as Mages means they draw attention from the worst sorts, and too many people know about me thanks to dear Uncle Gamlen, and any one of them could decide to turn my whole family over to the Templars for harboring me._

Daryn woofed softly as she got to the top of the steps, and turned and trotted away. _Probably_ _back home to keep an eye on Mother._

"Good dog," she muttered quietly as he disappeared back down the steps. One too many Sisters had shooed him out of one too many services over the years, so he refused to go in with her.

Which was fine. She wasn't likely to run into trouble in the Chantry after all, and by the time she left it would be proper morning with people and sunshine. And a straight line from Hightown back down to Gamlen's.

Adelaide forced herself to move slowly and quietly through the entry-hall, her staff loose in her hands. She switched it back and forth to peel off her gauntlets and tuck them in her belt, listening to the soft tap of her boots against the stone floor, echoing through the large, empty room.

_Dearest Andraste, I would greatly appreciate it if you could keep an eye on my family, and not let them be taken in by Templars? Thank you._

_Oh, and I'd really rather be dead than Tranquil, if it comes to that, though obviously I'd really really rather never get caught in the first place. If, you know, it's not too much trouble._

Sliding carefully into the chapel proper, Adelaide paused in surprise in the shadow of the doorway, head cocked to the side as she listened to a soft voice singing... _Devilish Mary?_ _A tavern staple, echoing through the Chantry?_ Trying not to snicker, amusement easing the exhaustion weighing down her limbs, Adelaide's gaze wandered across the empty pews, trying to follow the echoing acoustics to pinpoint the source.

Shock quelled her urge to laugh as she realized the only other person in the room was the Brother tending the brazier between services. He didn't look familiar, tall and broad-shouldered, a surprisingly slender waist beneath a tightly cinched sash, the rest of his shape disappearing in the familiar drape of the same robes worn by every other Brother in every other Chantry in this half of Thedas.

But she'd certainly recognize that voice if he'd sung the Chant in her hearing before, a charming baritone with a gentle rasp underlying the words, softening them, warming them.

Not that _Devilish Mary_ needed much warming, as he was singing one of the versions she wouldn't admit to knowing in her mother's presence, merrily describing how Captain Mary was letting her Quarter Master seduce her. The Quarter Master was, after all, the only one who knew she was Mary instead of Marlin until her fateful meeting with her William in about three more verses.

_Oh, Andraste, I think I like him._

"And where did a fine upstanding Brother such as yourself learn that song?" Adelaide asked quietly as she strode up the main aisle, her lips twitching slightly with barely suppressed delight as the song stopped mid-word.

Despite a visible blush crawling across the man's dusky cheeks, he smiled ruefully at her, blue eyes glinting with his own amusement. "Few of us are born in the Chantry," he admitted, his speaking voice a lilting brogue, different than the open seacoast twang of Kirkwall or the muddier vowels of her own native Ferelden, every word rich and decadent, "and for some reason Mary and her exploits have been floating around my head the past sennight. I was rather hoping no one would notice my attempt to sing them back out again."

"My luck to have been running so late as to have completely missed the service, then, or I would've missed Mary instead." Adelaide smiled back as she reached his position on the edge of the nave's platform. "Adelaide Hawke, at your service."

"Pleased to meet you," he ducked his head briefly in greeting, ginger-brown hair swept back from a high forehead, "Brother Sebastian Vael at yours. You're only slightly too early for _lauds_. You're more than welcome to spend your free 'mark here." A hand shifted slightly to encompass the nave and the pews, granting her her choice of seat.

"Certainly." Adelaide grinned as she perched on the edge of the platform, carefully laying her staff down beside her. "We can compare all the different verses."

"And where did a fine young lady such as yourself learn multiple versions of that song, Serah Hawke?"

"Just Hawke's fine, and I never said I was a lady, Brother Sebastian."

The Brother's slight smile softened into a chuckle. "I never argue with a lady."

Adelaide opened and shut her mouth with a snap, recognizing an argument she wasn't going to win. "Course you don't. Nice Chantry boy and all, who just happens to know the words to my favorite bawdy song?"

"Always was my favorite too, in my misspent youth." There was a slight puff of aromatic smoke as he carefully added some more chips to the brazier, the motion of his hands smooth and graceful with the ease of long practice. "Probably why I still remember all the words."

"Misspent youth? As you're so old and grey now?" _Maker's Breath, am I flirting? Bad Hawke, no flirting with the handsome Brother you just met, get yourself in trouble._

"It does rather feel that way when I'm serving vigil in the winter."

Adelaide clicked her tongue softly, shaking her head in dismay. "It may be wetter, but winter here is nowhere near as bad as back in Ferelden."

"So our newest parishioners keep telling me," Sebastian agreed wryly. "I must admit, I think I preferred the nice sharp cold of a mountain winter to the damp that soaks up from the stones, so close to the sea."

"Mountains?"

"Starkhaven," he answered. _Do they all talk like that in Starkhaven? If so, I've got to go visit._ "It's further inland, and quite noticeably higher and drier. If colder."

"Smell better, too?"

"Depends on if you prefer sheep to old fish?"

"Probably would, as I do actually miss wet dog when confronted with old fish." Adelaide snorted. _Not that Daryn lets me forget wet dog that often._ "Pretty sure my brother disagrees with that one, though."

"Ah, brothers. They tend to disagree just because they can."

Adelaide coughed down a laugh. "That does seem to be Carver's main goal in life."

"Younger brother? There's a chance he'll grow out of it, you know. I did." Sebastian smiled serenely, his youthful adventures obviously no longer of much concern to the well-settled Brother. _Probably weren't all that exciting anyways. Not that hard to hear_ Devilish Mary _after all._

"I'll try and remember that, next time he is particularly provoking." _As in, every time he opens his mouth._

"As in every time he opens his mouth and talks to you?" The Brother's eyes widened innocently, and Hawke burst out laughing at how well he'd mirrored her own thought.

"Am I that easy to read?"

"No," he tilted his head slightly, his gaze suddenly serious. "I have no idea what you're thinking right now." The slight smile came back. "But your previous expression looked remarkably like my brother Matthias when he was trying to pretend he didn't want to hit me."

 _Ooh, he should say remarkably more often. That was lovely._ Hawke coughed slightly with amusement, desperate to stop herself from starting to flirt again. Even if she didn't really mean anything by it, it seemed like a Bad Idea. _Or a really really good one. He was rather cute when he blushed, which is a spectacular distraction from worrying about Templars and Tevinters._

"So, perceptive, handsome young Brother, nice singer, lovely smile... how have I not met you before today?"

The poor man's eyes widened, and the lovely blush did make a reappearance as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"Sorry, it's been a long night, and my good sense has fled. I meant no offense, Brother Sebastian." _Andraste save me from my myself. Again._

"None taken, serah." His slight smile twisted, wry and amused though still apparently a touch embarrassed. "And I got leave to visit my family this past moon, as my parents are making a very big fuss over the birth of my brother Corbin's first child. Not that I blame them. My brother's been married ten years without issue, but refused to put aside his wife and remarry." His voice and smile both softened, his gaze growing distant. "They Named her Meghan, after our grandmother. She is a beautiful child."

Hawke had a sudden vivid memory of her parents Naming Bethany and Carver, the smell of incense swirling around the Mother performing the ceremony, her own small fingers wrapped tightly in her mother's skirts as she watched the two babes, Bethany trying to grab the Mother's long hair, Carver squirming and fussing already in their father's arms.  _Ahhh, Bethy, I miss you._

_Though you'd have have slipped something nasty in my soup for calling you Bethy._

_Or called me Dellie for a week._

"There's something special about a Naming, isn't there?" Hawke had to cough past the lump in her throat, voice husky, eyes blinking hard as she tried not to tear up.

"There is." Brother Sebastian paused again, careful as he tilted his head. "And this is not Confession, but they do insist we learn to be decent listeners. If there's something it might help to say?"

Hawke sniffed, before twisting a dry smile in his general direction. "See, I am that easy to read." Her head dropped, gaze aimed at her hands, twisting in her lap. "Just remembering my sister. She died, when we fled the Blight. She was a beautiful baby. A lovely girl." _A better woman than I'll ever be._

She heard a soft cough as the Brother cleared his throat above her, tensed to listen to some awkward platitude of the sort she'd been shrugging off from well-meaning neighbors ever since her father died three years ago. Instead, she heard the raspy lilt of his accent ease into a beautiful, familiar melody, his voice wrapping around the comforting words as if he meant every single one of them.

> _"Though all before me is shadow,_  
>  _Yet shall the Maker be my guide._  
>  _I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond._  
>  _For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light  
> _ _And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."_

The Brother's soft song settled into silence at the end of the verse, and Adelaide sighed, a moment of comfortable silence filling the nave before she twisted to smile at him again. "Thank you. That was lovely. And not the same verse of _Transfigurations_ everyone else seems fit to quote at me over and over again."

He hummed a bit, _The Light shall lead her safely / Through the paths of this world, and into the next_ before raising an eyebrow at her. "Book Ten, perhaps?"

"My Uncle misquoted Twelve at us, but usually, yes." She smiled at the Brother's soft chuckle. "I think he was trying to be nice. It's hard to tell with Uncle Gamlen."

"Gamlen?" The Brother eased away from the brazier and sat next to her, smoothing his robes across his legs. "Gamlen Amell?"

"You know him?" Adelaide blinked in surprise, slightly distracted by how very blue his eyes were this close. "I'm... sorry?"

"Ah, we cannot help our relatives, Hawke." She seemed to have surprised a grin out of him, which fit his face beautifully well, though it disappeared quickly. "And no, I haven't met him personally, but Lirene was complaining about a 'gentleman' who managed to convince some of the newer refugees to 'invest' in a scheme of his, which of course lost them what little coin they'd managed to bring with them. She was wondering if I could manage a few extra supplies out of the donation boxes for them."

"Uncle Gamlen is very good at losing money, yes." Hawke felt her mouth twist into a frown. "His and everyone else's." She blinked again. "You know Lirene?"

"Of course." Sebastian nodded slightly. "It is our duty to help those who are currently unable to help themselves, yes? To spread the Maker's bounty? Serah Lirene does good work, assisting the refugees lost in Lowtown."

"Well, yes, it's just that I haven't seen any Sisters tending to their potential flock down in Lowtown, beyond the occasional street-corner sermon as they pass through." Adelaide attempted to avoid sounding bitter about it. Everywhere else she'd lived she'd been proud to help the Chantry and its charitable works, even if it was just housing pigs when a barn got flooded, but here in Kirkwall there seemed very little interest in tending to anything beyond Hightown.

Sebastian sighed softly. "Yes, it has been deemed too dangerous for the Sisters to serve in the less reputable areas of Kirkwall, ever since Sister Plinth disappeared. The Grand Cleric will permit no one to travel unprotected."

"Then why don't the T-" _oh wait, don't actually want them wandering around Lowtown. Might catch their attention._

"Why don't the Templars provide escorts?" He finished her sentence for her, and Adelaide was suddenly struck by how odd this conversation was, the apostate and the Brother, conversing comfortably in the wee dark hours of the morning as if they'd known each other for years, rather than minutes. _Andraste, dear, he is a_ very _good listener._ "They did in Starkhaven. But here, they are all... occupied with their duties at the Gallows."

_Knight-Commander Meredith won't let them off their leash to help anyone else, you mean._

_Wait, really better not say that one. Look, mother, I can be sensible! Sort-of._

"But, you know Lirene?" _There, much safer than discussing the Knight-Commander._

"We've already established that, yes." _Maker, his eyes twinkle when he's amused. That is so unfair._ "If you mean, why do I get to wander Lowtown, I was... better trained before I joined than any of the Sisters here. Plus, a man in armor is much less of a tempting target than a woman in robes."

_Depends on your definition of tempting..._

_I did not just think that._

"Well, if you ever need an extra set of hands, I'd love to help. I live in Lowtown, after all. I'm used to the dark alleys."

_And now I'm picturing just the two of us in a dark alley. Because I'm an idiot._

"Thank you, Serah Hawke. Some assistance would be welcome, especially from someone who obviously knows how to take care of herself." And she was sure she must have imagined it, but his voice seemed deeper all of a sudden, his gaze having flashed across her leathers and her staff before settling on her face and they were just sitting there, staring at each other, and he was close enough to touch.

And a sworn Brother.

"Right," she coughed, turning her head away to remind herself to breathe. "Just, uh, let me know. Happy to help." _Said that already._ She pushed herself off the ledge, standing and straightening her armor and trying not to fidget too much.

"Of course." His voice was oddly hollow, as if he'd almost swallowed his words and had to force them out despite himself. _Great, now I've made him uncomfortable too. I'm going to go hide now._

"Well, I have to..." she shuffled awkwardly, gesturing behind her, hoping desperately for inspiration, "... candles! I like to light. For my sister. Before I sit down for the service. Yes. Right. I'll talk to you later." _Maker, I'm an idiot._ And she grabbed her staff and spun on her toes and tried to tell herself she wasn't retreating. Much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My imaginary Chantry follows similar liturgical hours as the traditional Catholic Church. Matins = midnight. Lauds = dawn. (Vespers is an evening/sunset service, though that one doesn’t show up ‘til later.) Adelaide is very fond of dawn services, even when she’s not living on a smuggler’s schedule.
> 
> Also, Sebastian’s tavern song was inspired by “Devilish Mary” as performed by the Whiskey Bards. Though his version is a much longer tale, for singing along with a riotous crowd. Or probably for seducing people. Not that he does that sort of thing anymore.
> 
>  
> 
> Though it appears to have worked on Adelaide anyways.


	2. Chapter 2

“The Chantry?”  Leandra’s voice flew up at least an octave as she stared at her eldest child in distress.  “We barely made it into Kirkwall, you and your brother are indentured to smugglers just to escape the notice of the Templars, and you walked right into the Chantry?  Are you trying to get caught?  Do you want to be taken away?” 

_Like Father and Bethany?_   Hawke winced, blinked hard enough to pretend her eyes weren't hot.  _Because it’s my fault they’re dead, isn’t it?  Always my fault._

“Of course not, Mother."  She carefully didn't say anything else, didn't voice any of the dark thoughts and echoes lingering in the corners of Gamlen's hut.  “I miss my sister.  It helps to pray.”   _You used to pray with me.  Before Father died._

“Then pray at home!”  Leandra’s hands were clenched together, fingers worrying around and around each other.  “Where you’re safe!”

“Mother," Hawke had a sudden immature urge to stick out her tongue in lieu of talking about it any longer.  It wasn't the same.  There was very little sign of the Maker's Grace in Lowtown, and even less in a room that was empty of people who shouldn't be dead.  "No."

Hawke heard Carver snort slightly from where he was cleaning his gear in the other room.  Dear Uncle Gamlen, at least, hadn't come home the night before, and was unlikely to be back to eavesdrop through the parchment thin walls anytime soon.

“No one expects an apostate inside the Chantry.  No one is looking for one.  And I certainly don’t do magic while I’m there.  It is perfectly safe for me to go and pray in peace and comfort.”  

_Please pretend you are still the mother I remember from my childhood, the one who knew how to smile, whose laugh could light up a room, who let us go outside to play without wrapping us in velvet to keep us safe._

“Give it up, mother!”  Carver called out, no longer pretending he couldn’t hear every word.  “She’s going whether you like it or not.  Just like I’m going to the Hanged Man for cards, and we’re both indentured to smugglers because you had to come home again.”  The slamming of the front door punctuated his words, and Hawke swallowed a sigh as her mother’s eyes turned still and cool, the shadow of her hair shifting across her skin as she bowed her head.

_Thank you so much for your help, Carver.  Now I get to spend the rest of the morning trying to cheer her up.  Tit._

_Ha._

_I miss Aveline._

_Doubt she’ll have as much time to consort with a smuggler, now she’s got herself a respectable guard job though.  Maker’s Grace, a year isn’t really that long, right?  Right._

“I’m sorry, mother.  How about we take Daryn for a walk, and get some fresh pastry at that nice bakery that just opened up outside the Merchant’s Quarter before I get some sleep?”   _So you stop staring at Uncle Gamlen’s dirty walls?_

“Of course, dear.  Give me a moment.”  And Leandra shoved her daughter out of the bedroom so she could scrub her face and put back on the fake smile that hurt even more than her tears. 

_I miss my mother._

* * *

Hawke leaned back in her chair, feet up on Gamlen’s desk, scowling at the amulet resting in her palm. They’d made it to Kirkwall. And she still hadn’t paid back her debt. _I need Athenril to give me some time off, and I need a local I trust to get me down the Wounded Coast to Sundermount._

_The guards do have some patrol runs out of town. And Aveline hates unpaid debts possibly more then I do. Maybe she knows a way? Three people. Four if I’m willing to leave Mother alone without Daryn for longer than usual. Mabari’s better than most soldiers, after all. Still. Likely to get in trouble._

Hawke leant forward until her chair settled all four legs on the floor with a slightly uneven thump, hunched over her hands as she continued to glare at the trinket that was apparently worth more then her life. _And I’ve been worrying the same problem around and around for weeks. Just going to have to wait until something changes. Hopefully before the Witch decides I took too long and comes back and flames the house in revenge._

_Hmm. But then we’d have to get a new place to live. Maybe I should be trying to get her here?_

Unable to resist a soft chuckle, Hawke stood, stretching her back out briefly before tucking the amulet back inside her belt. _Ah, at least I still amuse myself. Can’t be too bad if I still remember how to laugh, right?_

“Come along, Daryn,” she patted her leg briefly. “Off to pick up Carver and go to work. Athenril is letting us be in charge of our own little team tonight, won’t that be fun?”

The mabari woofed in cheerful agreement, before bumping her towards the door with his shoulder.

It was hard to resist taking a deep breath of warm evening air when she stepped outside, Lowtown looking almost pretty in the golden light, reflecting off stone and dirt and sand, but Hawke had learned that Lowtown appearances could be deceiving. Not that it looked good very often. And it never smelled nice.

_Bethany would’ve hated it here._

Hawke rather enjoyed the press of people, herself, not that she’d admit it to anyone. She’d had a lovely childhood, had been perfectly content in Lothering, taking care of her family, drinking with her few friends, indulging in more private pastimes with Aeric whenever they both finished up their chores ...

_Nice fellow, Aeric. Got out of Lothering early, too. Hope he and his sisters found somewhere safe to settle. Not Denerim, though._ Hawke looked down the alley she’d just passed, the path towards the elven quarter, shaking her head sadly. _Alienages are awful._

But her previous life had been rather quiet. Not that quiet wasn’t better than Blight, of course, but she liked people. So many of them, so colorful, always something to see or do. _Could maybe use someone to do, too..._ Hawke snorted softly. See where thinking about Aeric got her. She lacked sense. And privacy. Anywhere. Wouldn’t want to get laid at Gamlen’s, certainly. And the Hanged Man was, well, sticky. And the Rose well outside her price range.

_Stop thinking about sex, brain. You are not helping._

An odd quiver against her leg caused her to stop and look down at Daryn. Who was staring fixedly at her with his best _Please let me go, PLEEEEAAASE_ face. Which meant he'd been wanting to do something for awhile and she hadn't been paying attention and she lifted her head to look behind her just as she realized she'd walked into a blind corner. And then a boot sole scraped against stone right above her.

_Dearest Andraste, I just walked into a trap. Because I'm an idiot and forgot to keep my head up. In Lowtown. Please help me not die, thank you?_

Luckily the three thugs trickling out of the building before her whose uneven wings had conspired to shut her in were too poorly armed and armored to be Coterie, and too tall to be Carta, so it was highly doubtful that they were good enough fighters to actually kill her.

_Might hurt, though._

She whistled shortly, and Daryn lunged, freed of restraint, knocking a man down before anyone knew he was moving, following through on his tackle by shoving his large head under the man's chin, sharp teeth snapping and ripping the man's throat out. _Good dog._ She surreptitiously cast a Haste spell on him while the mismatched pair of wannabe criminals stared in shock at their very messy, very dead comrade. _Daryn should be able to keep them dancing for a bit, now._

Sliding her staff out off her back she spun around, just in time to fling a misdirection hex at the group approaching from behind. They were bunched closely enough together in their attempt to sneak down the alley that they literally tripped over their leader once hexed, and she had to squash the sudden urge to giggle.

_Laugh once we get away. Not before._

One quick step forward, using her own momentum to aid the swing, and she landed a solid hit to the side of the lead thug's head with her staff. She could hear his skull crack when he went down, the distinctive sound cutting through Daryn's growls behind her, but she'd over-extended, and had to spin sideways to avoid the dagger flashing towards her from the next woman in the bunch. She managed to shove her back with the butt of her staff, but it was a very makeshift sort of move, and only landed in the woman's gut by sheer luck.

_Why did I never learn those primal ice spells Bethany was so good at? They'd be quite useful right about now... Oh right, trying not to attract attention with flashy magic. Silly me._

Two hops back and she had room and time to cast a repulsion glyph. One quick breath convinced her discretion was not her best bet, and she aimed a mage bolt at the woman with the daggers, who didn't have time to shout "Mage!" to anyone else. The bolt stunned her just long enough for Daryn to bowl her over, his rear claws digging into her stomach and ripping past her make-shift leather armor, propelling him off her body and into the next attacker, spraying blood from his paws and leaving behind the distinctive smell of torn bowels.

_Well, that's it for her, at least._

Daryn's tendency towards shredding flesh seemed to have successfully shocked the remaining gang members, so with one last whistle to call the mabari away from his next intended victim, who definitely had enough reach with his sword as to cause the poor dog some trouble, Adelaide turned and ran.

_Hope my shift for Athenril is a little less exciting than usual, tonight. Or that Elegant has gotten her hands on some Lyrium, or I might not make it til tomorrow._

* * *

Neither Hawke nor Carver wanted to go home after Athenril sent them packing with a hint of scowl, _no work tonight, try not to get yourselves in trouble that anyone can trace back to me_ , so they somehow, _of course,_ ended up at The Hanged Man, staring into their pints as they shared a rickety table in the corner, Daryn sprawled across their feet, huffing gently in distaste at something on the floor.

"I hate sitting here, all the time," Caver muttered, barely audible over the shouting of happier patrons on the other side of the room, listening to Tethras telling one of his stories.

Even the Hawkes had heard of Tethras. Especially since he held court in the best ( _worst?)_ tavern in Lowtown. _There's a man it would be good to know. Much better connections than Athenril. No clue how to get his attention, though._ According to Elegant, no one knew how to get Varric Tethras' attention. It just happened. Or it didn't. He knew just about everyone, managed to keep friendly with the nobles, the Merchants, the Coterie, and the Carta, (which should've been an impossible combination), but beyond a pleasant word and a good story, almost no one got close to the dwarf or his family.

_Not that anyone wants to get close to Bartrand Tethras. Greedy bugger, even for a Merchant._

_Brothers._ Adelaide scowled at Carver. "First you complain about work, and then you complain about not working. Can you never be content with anything?"

"Shut up." Carver rolled his eyes and took another drink.

"Why should I?" Adelaide put her mug down with a clunk.

"Oh, I don't know, because someone asked you to?" Carver scowled, eyebrows a dark slash across his forehead. "Because we don't need to hear your voice and your opinions, all the time? Maybe other people like their own thoughts just fine and don't need yours too?"

"You are such a brat. I just asked why you have to complain about _everything._ "

"And you're such a joy to live with?"

"At least I _try_ to look on the bright side occasionally. Say something nice?"

"Yeah. Nice." Carver huffed out a breath. "You mean you have to be right. All the time."

"Just because you're a twit and make me look smart doesn't mean I'm right all the time. It just means you're wrong all the time."

"Screw you too, sister." Carver shoved himself away from the table and carried his mug over to the bar, where he settled on a stool, shoulders stiff, his entire body hunched over his drink.

_Shit._

Feeling not particularly inclined to hear the dwarven merchant's tale of noble hijinks at the latest party at the Keep, Adelaide abandoned her own mug and left, Daryn trailing at her heels.

* * *

"Serah Hawke!" The quiet of the Chantry entrance hall was broken by a surprised, if pleasant voice. 

"I told you to just call me Hawke, Brother Vael." Adelaide smiled at the man she'd almost run into as she headed for the doors to the Chapel. _At least someone is happy to see me tonight._

"Sebastian, then, Hawke." The Brother nodded politely, the hint of an answering smile lightning his eyes.

"I think we've had this conversation before?"

"And probably will again." His smile finally made its way to his mouth, softening the curve of his lips.

"Probably." _Maker, he's gorgeous. Why do I keep thinking that? Andraste will smack me upside_ _the head rather than guiding me through the Void, at this rate._

"And to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit, Hawke?" Sebastian tilted his head slightly, leading her through the double-doors, past the banks of candles. "It's unusual to see you here, now, after _vespers_."

She almost stumbled at the thought he'd been paying attention to her schedule, before actual thought interrupted the hot flash of glee to point out that there were very few people at dawn services beyond the Brothers and Sisters and the residents at the hospice.  Leathers and a staff rather stood out in the middle of that.

She swallowed carefully, and tried to keep her voice steady.  And vague.  "My... work... got cancelled unexpectedly. Ship running late."

"Oh, you found work with one of the Trading Houses?" Sebastian's long striding steps stopped as he turned to face her directly, the echo of their boots fading quickly in the quiet hush that settled upon the building between Chants. "That's quite remarkable! Marchers tend to be suspicious of refugees, despite the fact that most of our families are riddled with immigrants and travelers."

"Uh." Adelaide paused. "Not, precisely."

"Oh?" Sebastian's raised eyebrows made his impossibly blue eyes seem even brighter, for just a moment, before they narrowed again as he figured out what she meant. "Ah."

"Didn't have much choice, unfortunately," Adelaide shrugged. _And why do I feel the need to explain myself to him?_ "My mother was from Kirkwall, originally, and after the Blight, and losing everything," _oh Bethany,_ she swallowed, shrugged yet again. "I couldn't bear to watch her be turned away."

"Difficult times call for sacrifices from all of us, and the Amells are, unfortunately, rather infamous for all they've lost." His voice was soft, his brogue a pleasant rasp against her skin, much nicer than the words themselves..

"We're famous?" Adelaide winced at the sound of her own voice cracking in surprise.

_Well-known and apostate are very poor compatriots._

"From almost Viscount to Lowtown slum?" His smile was sad, sympathetic. _Not pity though. Thank the Maker for small favors._ "Though currently the rumours are more concerned with how your mother avoided the Templar's notice upon returning, for harboring an apostate."

_Harboring an... he knows? People_ know? Adelaide wasn't sure she could breathe.

"The Knight-Commander isn't known for letting the past lie," Sebastian's pleasant voice continued, apparently oblivious to her frozen panic. "One can only assume your father called in some very powerful favors when he left."

_My... father? Favors?_

"Well, they never, either of them, told us much," Adelaide admitted slowly, carefully forming each word in her mouth before letting it free. _Still safe. Mostly._ "Almost Viscount? Really?"

"Yes." His eyebrows creased, the frown shadowing his eyes as if he was unsure whether he should tell her what her own mother hadn't, before he nodded slightly, decision made. "Your grandfather, Aristide Amell, was _the_ choice for Viscount after Threnhold was arrested. Until Daylen Amell was shipped off to Ferelden's Circle.  Most family trees have some mage blood hiding back in the roots somewhere, but his nephew? That was much too close to the Throne for Kirkwall."

"And of course everyone still remembered his daughter running off with an apostate not that long before hand?" 

A slight nod followed her words.  "They slowly slid down the social scale, until.. well. Gamlen Amell." The eloquent wave of a hand encompassed the walking disaster that was her Uncle rather well. "Every noble family in the Free Marches uses the Amell's history to scare their children into behaving. And accepting respectable marriage contracts."

"Every noble? Every Brother, too, apparently?" Her hands clenched tightly at her belt, holding her body stiff to avoid nervous fidgeting. _We're bedtime stories?_

"I forget you were not raised here, you would not know the name." Sebastian's feet shifted, shoulders suddenly awkward beneath his robe. "The Vaels are the ruling family of Starkhaven. My parents told their share of morality tales, trying to shame me into what they considered proper behavior, before I was shipped off to the Chantry."

"Shame?" _Shipped off?  But you fit so well, here, between these walls. And you sing so beautifully, as if your voice was made for the Chant._

The hint of a blush spread across his face. "Well, I found my place. Eventually. But originally, I was quite convinced I'd been sacrificed on the altar of the family's reputation, fit for nothing else but to display our family's piety, and show restless nobles their place." The words were bitter, but the tone was soft.

"I'm sorry?"

Sebastian shook his head gently, dismissing any need for sympathy. "I was a brash young man, sure I was right and everyone else was wrong. It was not my place to question my parents' motives, especially not when the only hurt I had ever truly suffered was to my pride."

"So you're almost a Prince?" _Of course he's a Prince. Charming. Handsome. Noble. Both kinds. Sworn to Andraste. While I'm a mage. And an idiot._ "Just like mother was almost a Comtessa?"

"Ah, my Father's the Prince. And he has his heir, and a spare, before me. Your mother was much closer to de Launcet's title than I ever was to the Principality."

"You know who my mother was engaged to? From over twenty years ago?"

"Nobles gossip, Hawke." That flash of a grin appeared and disappeared again, and she couldn't resist a brief laugh in reaction. "Part of why I wasn't a very good one, I think. Gave them too much to talk about, and refused to talk enough about anyone else."

_"There is but one Truth?"_ Adelaide whispered softly. That particular verse was usually aimed against perjury, but she'd always rather thought it applied equally well to gossip.

" _And He shall judge their lies._ " Sebastian nodded in agreement. "It is not our place to judge, but His. We do what we must to protect our families, yes?"

"Really?" A tightness she hadn't realized she was carrying across her shoulders eased as he obliquely eased their conversation back to the present. "Most people, I mean, even in the Chantry," she stopped, pursed her lips as she tried to figure out what she was attempting to say. "Thank you."

"Sermons are more a comfort for those who already believe, than a tool to convince skeptics. We have to try to lead by example, and hope others find their way to the Maker's side with us."  A crooked half smile brightened his face, and she could suddenly _see_ , clear as day, how he must have looked when he was younger, singing and flirting to _Devilish Mary_ in some tavern hidden in the mountains, and had trouble swallowing a tangled surge of lust and regret and guilt before she blushed and gave away the turn of her thoughts. "Not that I always live up to such ideals, of course. But they are a good goal to strive for, are they not?"

"That they are, Brother Vael."

He clicked his tongue at her, and chuckled softly. "Sebastian, Hawke. I didn't think we'd be having this conversation again, already."

"Apparently I am a very slow learner?" Adelaide attempted to smile, attempted not to step closer to him, to find out if he was as warm as he looked, all dusky skin and beautiful eyes and rich vowels wrapping around her.

"I doubt that, very much," he answered softly. And here she was, again, alone with the man in the Chantry, _much too close to him_ , his vows a tangible wall within her mind, blocking all ability for her to figure out what in Andraste's Name she thought she was doing, beyond resisting the urge to ask him to call her Adelaide in that same, smooth whisper.

"Brother Sebastian!" A woman's voice called out from further inside the chapel, interrupting their stalemate in a way Adelaide seemed quite unable to accomplish on her own.

"If you'll excuse me?" Sebastian started to turn, pausing mid-step, waiting for her unsteady nod, before walking away.

Adelaide swallowed, hard, once, and forced herself to turn in the other direction rather than watching him leave. Towards the Confessionals. _Confess. Yes. I need to Confess. A lot._

* * *

"Maker's Breath, sister, what is _wrong_ with you?" Carver's hand wrapped around her arm, right above her elbow, and dragged her through the market, quiet and empty and dim at this time of night, until they were surrounded by Lowtown's twisty alleys.

"Carver Aristide Hawke, what do you think you are doing?" Adelaide pulled hard, trying to yank her arm out of his grasp, but his fingers tightened, gripping hard enough to bruise, and he just kept walking.

"Oh, no," he shook his head, "you don't get to be all high and mighty this time. We go off to work, and you send Daryn home alone. What do you _think_ mother did with that? Idiot."

"Oh." Adelaide's feet stopped working, and she slid through the dirt for a moment before Carver stumbled to a halt. "But, obviously, he was fine, so we were fine?"

"Maybe our mother from a year ago knew that, but the one stuck in Uncle's house thinking about-" Carver broke off with a snarl, finding it no easier to mention his twin than Adelaide did. "She apparently assumed the worst. Which I found out when Uncle showed up at The Hanged Man in his quest to avoid her." He finally let go of his sister's arm and started walking again.

Adelaide stared at him in shock for a moment before skipping several steps to catch up. "So you came out to look for me?"

"Your fault, you can calm her down." Carver's voice dropped to a low growl. "Not like she'd let me calm her down anyways."

_You have Bethany's eyes. She may blame me for our sister's death, but at least she can still look me in the face, most days._

"I'm sorry, Carver." Adelaide whispered, but he didn't even glance at her, shoulders tight as he started up the stairs.

_Though I walk through the mists on the edge of the Void, I shall not fear, for You are with me._ Adelaide paused at the top of the stairs, glaring at the scuffed toes of her boots. _But I do not want to go inside that house. Even with You._

Carver's irritated grunt forced her to look back up, seeing him waiting for her, hand resting heavily on the door handle. "Right," she muttered. "Coming."

Adelaide could practically hear her ribs creak as her mother pounced, embracing her children with surprisingly strong arms as soon as they'd both passed through the doorway, somehow wrapping them both up despite the fact that she was barely taller than Adelaide and most definitely slighter than either of them.

_What, does she practice lifting heavy books while we're out, or something?_ Leandra stepped back, fingers stiff as iron on Adelaide's shoulder, her other hand presumably as tight around Carver's arm, judging from his uneasy squint.

"You will not do that to me again," Leandra hissed, eyes dark and hard and surprisingly terrifying as she glared back and forth between both her children. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Sorry, mother," Carver's mutter was quiet enough Adelaide could barely hear it over her own whispered, "Yes, mother."

Their mother rolled her eyes, and Adelaide's breath stuck somewhere in her chest at the brief glimpse of the woman she remembered from _before_ , the one who could quiet her rowdy family with a raised eyebrow, then get them all laughing again with a wink.

"Explain."

Their mother was furious at them. She was standing up straight, eyes clear and voice firm. _Oh, this is wonderful. My mother..._

"You think this is funny?" Leandra's fingers tightened even further, and Adelaide winced. But she couldn't stop smiling. And as her mother started to open her mouth to combat her children's silence, Adelaide leaned forward and kissed her softly on the cheek.

"I'm sorry, Mother. Athenril didn't have any work for us tonight, so I headed up to the Chantry. I never thought..."

"Exactly." Leandra interrupted fiercely. Her eyes were shimmering, but her lips were thin and tight across her face. "You never think."

_Ow._ Adelaide froze, her smile gone. Her lungs apparently left too, judging from how impossible it was to breathe.

"You spend your time at the Chantry, rather than with your family. Malcolm is gone, and you risk yourself recklessly, just like B - " her voice broke, the silence brittle as guilt and blame shivered in the air between them. 

_All my fault. Always my fault._

One heartbeat.

Two.

Leandra swallowed, shoulders rising as she took a breath and started over. "Your father died, and you let your brother run off to join the Army."

"Let?" For once she and Carver were in completely agreement, the same word echoing from both their throats. Adelaide's chest ached, the dark hole that used to connect her to her father and her sister growing larger. _Who is this bitter creature, and what has she done to my mother?_

"I didn't need my sister's permission to fight for my King, and I certainly don't need yours to determine where I spend my free time." Carver's voice was lower than usual, the memory of his lost twin still visible in his eyes.

_How much worse, for him, to have her gone? His other half, the sweet to his sour._ The old joke had long since lost its humor, but she kept trying. Someday she'd manage to think of Bethany again without wanting to cry.

Carver actually caught her eyes, gave her one brisk nod. Quite obviously didn't look at Leandra.  "Good night. Sister."  

He slammed the door even harder than usual on his way out.

"Why?" Adelaide whispered, turning her attention back to her mother. _Why won't you eat, or sleep, or talk, or try? Why do you despise us so?_  

The elder Hawke lifted her chin, wordlessly turning and drifting back towards the fireplace. But not before Adelaide saw the tear tracing the curve of her cheek. _Void, she doesn't even walk right, anymore._

"Mother," Adelaide started, taking one half step after Leandra as she settled slowly in the chair beside what passed for Uncle Gamlen's hearth. But her mother cut her off, fingers lifted slightly to wave Adelaide away.

"I'm glad you're fine, dear." The voice was light. Smooth. Cool. At least half-dead. "You go keep an eye on your brother then, make sure he doesn't get into too much trouble?"

_Like Void. He doesn't need a baby-sitter._

Staying and watching the not-her-mother sit all night _she never sleeps anymore_ was not an option either. Adelaide swallowed, dragging her voice back up out of her chest. "Come along, Daryn." She slid back out the door, gently pushing it closed until the latch clicked.

Carefully, she turned. Her knees felt old. Her back ached. Slowly, she lowered herself to the top of the staircase, all the way down onto the gritty stone step. Daryn flopped behind her, curling along her hips, backrest and armrest both. Her fingers gripped tight around his collar, digging in deep between the rough strands of hair. Gripped so hard he whuffed one quick note of concern.

Adelaide carefully loosened her fingers. She listened to her own breathing, hard and irregular through her nose. She blinked her eyes, trying to ease the burn. They were too dry. Too hot. _Is this my life, Andraste? My brother's life? Guarding a mother who..._

Even to Andraste, she wasn't sure she could finish that thought. "She hates us so, Daryn," Adelaide's voice was just a whisper, floating above her mabari's head. "For not saving her husband. Her baby. For surviving without them.  Carver and me, we're just leftovers. Reminders. And now we have to take care of her, because she refuses."

_I don't know if I can do this much longer. I'm lost. I cannot stand. I have no justice. No peace. I'm already faltering. I have not earned His blessing, but please, oh please, I need Your help, Andraste._

Closing her eyes, she turned, curling her legs up under her and resting her face on Daryn's warm back. He smelled like home.

Wet dog.

A wet dog who made a dreadful pillow, pushing up against her chin until finally she stood.  He huffed at her, _good human_ , and trotted down the stairs.  When she stood still for a bit too long, staring at him rather blearily, he barked.

Even the mabari was tired of her wallowing.

She sighed, and plodded down the stairs.

The quiet grumble under her breath at being herded through Kirkwall had degenerated into outright swearing at the damn beast by the time he'd nudged and barked and dragged her all the way back to the Chantry's courtyard.

And then he stared at her.

Just stared.

She sat on the bottom step and pretended to ignore him.

_Not dealing with that staircase twice in one night. Nope. Not even for the dog._

At least it smelled better in Hightown than Lowtown.

High enough the city even looked pretty, tiers of stone rather than layers of muck.

If she was going to sulk the night away, this was a nicer spot for it.

"Thanks, Daryn."

He huffed out another breath, and collapsed to the ground with a thud, leaning heavily against her shins.

She snorted, and tried to find the stars beyond the veil of smog and reflected light between her and the sky.


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow she wasn't surprised when Sebastian found her, several 'marks later.  She hadn't even realized she'd started to shiver, chilly everywhere except her very warm toes, buried under dog,  until he draped a blanket over her shoulders and sat beside her.

He didn't say anything, not right away, just tilted his head back enough to make it seem they neither of them had any more pressing concerns than the arcs of the moons passing across the sky above them.

She curled her fingers in the rough wool, tugging the blanket close in front of her, and managed a soft "thank you", though she couldn't quite bear to look away from her search for stars. Not yet. 

But she found herself wondering, for the first time, what concerns he had.  It couldn't all be singing and incense and carefully not flirting with the stupid apostate smuggler who kept wandering by.

"You never did tell me about your sister?"

"Bethany."  Adelaide sniffed, and swallowed, her throat hot and full and yet completely empty of anything nearly so useful as _words._

The silence beside her lightened, somehow, and she sniffed again and tilted her head enough to glance sideways at him.  "Adelaide, Bethany, Carver."  He paused to look at the mabari by her feet.  "Didn't you tell me his name was Daryn?"

She heard herself giggle at his carefully lifted eyebrows, though it got caught on all her almost tears and turned into a cough after barely a moment. 

"If they'd had another child, would your parents have named him Edmund? Or would they have ignored the dog and gone for Dane?"

She snorted at that.  "Dane's a bit too arrogant in Ferelden, unless you want to claim you're up to fighting werewolves."  She leaned sideways, just enough to bump briefly against the side of his arm.  "And we're Dog Lords, remember? No one ignores the mabari."

"Ah.  Edmund it is then. Or perhaps Estelle, for another girl?"

"Too Orlesian."  Adelaide tsked softly.

Sebastian chuckled.  "My apologies.  Would never do to be too Orlesian, I agree.  Elsa?"

"Hmm."  Adelaide smiled.  "That might have worked.  Poor Carver though, ever more outnumbered."  _Especially if she was another mage._

"Perhaps he and your father could have escaped together a few times?  My grandfather used to do that for me, when I was too young to handle yet another day of Court."

"Court."  Adelaide shook her head, but leaned over to bump shoulders again, to let him know she didn't mind.  "I cannot even imagine."

"Yes, well, we all have our hardships."

She could feel him smile as she snorted again.

"Carver," she stopped, considered.  "Carver has always been very _Fereldan._ Very. Solid?" 

She could just see Sebastian lifting a hand out of the corner of her eye, presumably to hide an excess of amusement.  He'd seen her brother when Adelaide guilted him into attending services with her and their mother once a week, towering over most of the other parishioners.

"While Father," she tilted her head.  "Father was bright, and brilliant, his hands shifting with every word he said, and he had the greatest laugh, accompanied by a terrible proclivity for awful puns.  He was good with people, always noticed them and their moods, and he taught us all to read, but he ... " She trailed off, out of habit. 

But Sebastian knew about the infamous elopement, knew about the magic.  She felt slightly light-headed at the realization that she could actually finish that sentence.  "He was terribly impractical.  He only knew how to fight with magic, could barely duck a fist if the neighboring farmer had too much ale and got annoyed about the water rights.  He could tell you the formal names for a plant he'd found in the field, in Common and Fereldan and Orlesian and Tevene and occasionally Anders, but he never quite understood that one had to darn one's socks _oneself,_ that you couldn't just chuck them in the bin and expect to find new ones easily.  That someone had to get fresh water to boil if you wanted another mug of tea that wasn't stale, that cheese turned greasy if you left it on the windowsill all afternoon rather than wrapping it properly and putting it back in the cellar."

She could feel Sebastian's shoulders shifting as he laughed almost silently beside her.  "That sounds terribly familiar."

She turned her head to look at him directly at last, trying not to let her breath catch at the glint of moonlight on blue eyes, the shadows along his cheekbones. 

His smile quirked to the side, just a little.  "They tend not to teach noble children much of anything useful either.  My first few years as a lay brother were ... probably horribly difficult for everyone else.  I'm surprised Sister Etheline never threw the mop bucket at my head."

"Somehow, my noble mother mostly figured it out, but he never quite did."  She hummed as she thought.  "Too delighted to wake up to an open sky everyday, I think, to bother with wondering about the roof?"

"I'm fond of a nice solid roof when it rains, myself."

"As am I.  As is Mother."  She sighed, carefully not thinking of the mother safely beneath a roof back in Lowtown.  "I think Mother was always proud of making things herself, rather than just being somewhere new.  Clothes, food, pillows.  She'd somehow managed a tutor indecent enough to teach her basic potion and poison making when she was young, and she kept up as we traveled. She loved to bake, though sometimes she grabbed the wrong glass jar and her cakes turned funny colors."

"Hopefully not poisonous colors?"

Adelaide grinned.  "She kept those in brown glass, so no one would accidentally think they were something else.  Elfroot infused biscuits though.  That happened once.  Dreadfully green and slightly bitter and oddly chewy."

Sebastian laughed again, soft and easy, and she wondered that he had not commented on the poison.  Did he live in a world where such a thing could be a simple noble affectation? Or did he not want to hear about how important those brown bottles had been to Leandra Hawke, how carefully she'd kept track of them, wrapped them in linen and wool every time they packed up to move?  They were her strength, her defense, something she knew could be used, carefully, secretly, if ever the wrong person looked too closely at her husband or her girls.  Or even to edge a stave or Carver's sword or her own hidden dagger, at the sight of an uplifted sword or Templar red on their doorstep.

_But we never needed them in Lothering, not for anything more dangerous than rodents in the barn or the cellar._

Lothering had been everything her mother had never thought she'd have, not after running from Kirkwall.  Peace and stability and always enough to eat.  Lines around her mouth that Adelaide had been too young to notice at the time had faded, replaced by the crinkle of her smiles beside her eyes. 

"But then Father got sick, and she didn't know of anything, any potion, any tincture, nothing that would work."

"And he couldn't?"  Sebastian's voice drifted away, an uncomfortable shift of his hips against the stone step beneath them, as if he didn't know how to bring up the question of spells in a regular conversation.

"He couldn't.  Wasn't how his magic worked."  There'd always been an odd line between his eyes when the subject of creation magic came up in their lessons, but he'd never explained, just shook his head, eyes shadowed , and told them it wasn't for him.  _"But that doesn't mean my ladies can avoid their lesson on it.  Read the next passage aloud, Bethany."_

But despite their studies, neither she nor Bethany had been strong enough to do more than ease his fever or his aching back.  _Never quite enough._   "So we had to watch him fade away, listen to his laugh grow thin, until all that was left was waiting for that last breath to stop."

"That must have been terrible to see.  I'm sorry."

Adelaide let her breath out in a shaky sigh, sniffed another breath back in again. 

Sebastian sounded like he actually was sorry, his voice soft with sympathy despite his probable opinion of an apostate wandering around free for eighteen years or so.  She wanted to thank him, for his kindness, for his shoulder, for the warmth of his voice in the darkness.  She couldn't seem to work it past the ache in her chest, however, the desperate heavy weight of the past few years settling around her lungs, her heart, and she heard the croak of her voice as if it came from someone else, saying something else entirely.  "Better than Bethany."

"Tell me about Bethany."

It seemed a command this time, rather than a request, an order she felt unable to resist.

"She put herself between our mother and an ogre."

She could hear the shock beside her, a sharp grunt caught in Sebastian's throat, short and pained, but before the silence could stretch, taut and sharp between them, he found his voice again.  "Was she a good fighter, your sister?"

_She could call fire in the middle of a storm, heat and light and power from beyond the thickest fog or the softest snowfall, her will stronger than the air itself, bright and terrible, and always so very sad, when the light had gone, and all that was left was ash._

"Something like that."  Adelaide's voice was thick, her throat almost too full for thought, the stars too far away to see, washed out by the memory of the light between Bethany's fingers, the flash of her power when she let it go free.  "Obviously the ogre won."

She couldn't manage more than that; no words could possibly convey the sound of Bethany's bones shattering between the monster's fingers, the thick wet thud of her body hitting the ground.

"Did it?" Her eyes widened, body frozen still at the slightest brush of his fingers down her back, one fleeting edge of comfort.  "Your mother made it here to Kirkwall, didn't she?"

Adelaide shook her head, wisps of hair shifting against her cheeks. "It was our job to protect her, she didn't need to-"

"Of course she needed to, if she loved all of you as much as you clearly loved her."  She felt the shift of his weight beside her, listened to the lilt of his voice in the shadows.  "She sounds very brave, your Bethany, putting her family's lives before her own."

"But she shouldn't h-."

"Would you take her bravery away from her, then? Deny her the choice to protect you?"

Adelaide had to turn her head away at that, desperate to control her breathing, to swallow the urge to sob.  All Bethany had ever wanted, the only thing that she would never have as an apostate, was a _choice_.

How did he know?  How could he see her so clearly, when he'd never even met her?

_How have I been so blind?_

Adelaide could see Bethany's face, that last moment before the ogre had charged, her jaw firm and her chin lifted, her staff turned sideways, her other arm behind her, pushing Leandra _back._

It was so clear, now, her mother's arm reaching out, the shout of her voice, her stance off balance.  She'd tried to protect her children, and her daughter had refused to let her, had probably shoved right past her. 

_Mother doesn't blame us.  She blames herself._

And to make it worse, she probably felt the same edge of anger that haunted Adelaide, that sickly ache of rage with nowhere to go, because it was aimed at Bethany herself, for risking it all and _failing._  

It felt so cruel, to be angry at someone for dying, but she couldn't seem to _stop._

Adelaide closed her eyes and shook her head again, as if denial would stop the tears from building behind her lashes.  She wanted more than anything to turn towards Sebastian, to tuck her head against his shoulder, to let the heat in her eyes go free, wanted it so badly her fingers were trembling beneath her blanket, her toes pressing down against the stone beneath her boots to remind herself to stay _still._

If she let herself lean against the kind words of a Brother of the Chantry, a man sworn to stop _people like her_ , the fall when he stepped away would be too far, would hurt too much.  She wasn't sure she'd survive the impact back against her life under Athenril's cool eyes, the reality of blood and lies and sorrow.

" _She should see fire and go towards Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of Death ..._ "

Adelaide could feel the stillness beside her, cool now, waiting, listening as she murmured beneath her breath.

He'd gone too still, perhaps.

Of course he would remember, would know that was from the same verse of _Transfigurations_ she was tired of hearing, the same verse that offered no comfort, no peace.  Perhaps he even suspected what she meant, instead, the fire of a mage pulling her power through the Veil itself, burning out with purpose, rather than hiding herself away beneath the care of her family for a lifetime.

Perhaps Adelaide was jealous, just a little, that Bethany at last was free.

_I deserve no blessings, no peace._

"I have been shaken, Sebastian, I have faltered." 

"So have we all." 

She felt the brush of his fingers again, along the back of her hand where it had slid out from beneath the blanket, and though she knew she should not, knew it as she could feel the song of the Fade inside her, always, even now, she turned her arm until her palm rested against his, and their fingers clasped together.


End file.
